God handed a bunch of guys
(and one woman)
Holy Pens … and said,
TAKE THIS DOWN.
Spitting on nibs
the mortals poised pens
above papyrus and awaited
the Holy Word.
But the men did not fully
receive the Holy Word
because their minds
wandered to concubines and
roasted goat.
And so it was,
they put a spin on
The Word of God,
(to save their holy asses)
believing it was sorta
exactly what they heard.
And thus was the
Word of God
transcribed … sorta,
on papyrus, stained
with grease, mead, and
barbequed baaaaaaaa.
The woman handed
her transcription reverently
to the men
in order that they might bound
it with theirs,
and thus it be named
The Good Book.
They accidently left
her meticulous notes
in a terrible sandstorm,
because it was written … sorta,
that women weren’t
smart enough,
funny enough,
strong enough,
complex enough,
to be trusted with
The Word.
So it came to pass,
Australian students
on spring break made their
way up Mount Carmel.
And thus did they pass a bottle
of Sabra liqueur
amongst them,
praising God in the Highest
as the blessed nectar
was lifted to meet their parch-ed lips.
One took leave of the others
from out of the olive grove
to find relief.
Who amongst you have not done thus?
And his stream was strong
and sure,
and it wash-ed the dust from a
sheaf of parchment, exposing
the delicate symbols upon it.
And there was much
wonderment and joy!
For surely this holy relic
would justify
missing the tour bus.
Again.
The learn-ed scholar pored
over the sacred document,
having deciphered the message
and carboned the dating …
dated the carbon?
Carbon Dated?
He verified it was old.
And the learn-ed scholar,
redundant as this title may be,
determined that this was The Word,
The One True Word of God.
And thus had dictateth the Lord of Hosts:
Play nice.
Follow your heart.
Be kind to animals.
Don’t scare the children.
Don’t wake me
UNLESS IT IS IMPORTANT,
And, if you want something done right,
ask a woman to do it.
Amen
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